Judas
by MoeMoeWordWord
Summary: When Stiles' mother died, there was something in the hospital. To escape his pain, Stiles made a deal with a demon. The demon had been mainly dormant inside of Stiles since then. Stiles never thought that demons would be in his life. So he isn't surprised when werewolves make their way inside too. He also isn't surprised that his demon takes pleasure in tormenting one Derek Hale.
1. Aeterna Perfide

"Derek, Derek stop—" Stiles' voice was cut off by a choked moan. His fingers curled in the soft fabric of Derek's grey Henley.

"Why are you holding back?" Derek growled, biting down harshly on Stiles' collarbone. Stiles gasped and felt a shudder tear through his body.

Stiles forced his breath back to him, "I can't—Danny—"

Derek's lips rose in a sneer and he mashed his lips against Stiles' once again. Stiles moaned and moved his hands to push up in to Derek's hair. He twisted his fingers in the soft, dark hair.

"You're mine," Derek rumbled, his breath warm and sweet against Stiles' lips. This caused anger to spike in Stiles. The shorter male felt black bleed in to his eyes. Derek hissed and jerked away from Stiles a moment later. His eyes glowed an angry red and he turned his head sideways and spat a bit of blood out of his mouth.

"I am no one's," Stiles whispered, his voice deep and strangled as if speaking from a different place. A slow and impossibly wolfish smirk spread across Derek's lips.

"We'll see about that, Betrayer," The sharp scent of brimstone filled Derek's nose and his body hummed in anticipation. Stiles exhaled slowly and let his consciousness slip away and allowed the demon to take over.

Let's take this moment to welcome you, reader, to the small town of Beacon Hills, California. Beacon Hills is just like any other small town. It has a school district, sheriff's office, veterinary clinic, grocer, and even a movie theater. Every Friday during the season, the entire town comes out and cheers on the high school lacrosse team. Time came and went in this little town just like every other town. And, just like every town, Beacon Hills had its own dirty little secrets.

Beacon Hills was a breeding ground for supernatural activity—something to do with proximity to astral lines. There were certain happenings that not even the sheriff's office knew about. It was handled just as it came up in discreet and quick fashions. There were two driving forces on the forefront of battle against the supernatural in Beacon Hills. One was a family of hunters and the other a family of werewolves—both very ancient bloodlines. Once at war with each other, they were now on a less than sturdy truce.

But eighteen years ago, something never before seen in Beacon Hills decided to mosey across the county line. This was something much darker, older, and more powerful than any other visitor in Beacon Hills. Its name was Stiles Stilinski and he was here to cause mischief. Now, there are a few things you need to know about Stiles Stilinski. One, he is the sheriff's son. Two, his mother died when he was very young. Three, his favorite superhero of all time is Batman. Four, his best friend is a werewolf by accident. Five, his real name isn't Stiles or even what is written on his birth certificate—which is a travesty to all names and will never be mentioned ever. His real name is Aeterna Perfide or—his most infamous name—Judas.

Now here's the sticky part of that. Stiles isn't really a singular person anymore. His being, Aeterna Perfide, is more like the personification of mischief and chaos. Very similar to Norse mythology's Loki. No he was never a horse and he never planned on giving birth to an eight-legged anything. He was totally not in to the whole mpreg thing. Anyway, back to the important things. Aeterna Perfide sort of just popped up in Hell one day—borne from the darkness of people's hearts. He was always up for a good joke. His favorite would always be the classic spreading of a witch rumor and subsequent stoning. He so loved a good stoning. So what if only 1/23 were actual witches? No big deal.

So how does something that was created from people in a non-biological way survive for so long, you ask? That's easy—find something that will survive, for example the humans. Until they manage to destroy themselves, the human race is the perfect vessel for manifesting evil. So that's what he does. He just latches on during a time that it's easiest to overthrow the human's own self and rides it out. He's a body snatcher of sorts, but much more civilized obviously. That's what brought him to Beacon Hills. There had been some sort of tragedy—he wasn't exactly sure—that caused a nice thick miasma of misery to blanket the town. It was the perfect beacon for him. Pun intended. He found a nice body, some elder man who had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and blended right in. Unfortunately for him, the illness caught much quicker than anyone could have anticipated and his meat suit was soon staying in the hospital for most of its days.

Not all was lost however. As people like to say, when God closes one door, He opens another. Although Aeterna knew that was the biggest crock of shit because the God he knew didn't give two flying fucks about doors, he still jumped on the opportunity presented to him. He had become strong enough over the last few centuries to be able to manifest a physical body for short periods of time. It wasn't anything substantial that he could survive with, but just enough that he could take little strolls on his own. So here he was, just strolling around in the hospital to stretch his legs, when he bumps in to this little kid.

The kid's small—maybe eight or nine in human years—and he doesn't stand much taller than Aeterna's thighs. His hair is shorn and a light dusting of brown on his head. He looks up at Aeterna with wide, brown eyes. He's clutching a candy bar to his chest.

"Sorry about that mister," he says, "I didn't mean to run in to you,"

Aeterna feels his lips twitch up in to a smirk. He kneels down in front of the kid, "You should watch where you're going. You might meet with a dangerous person,"

The kid shakes his head very quickly, "I'll be okay. My daddy's a deputy! He's like a superhero!"

"Oh?" Aeterna's eyebrow rose, "Is that so?"

"Yup! He takes out the bad guys like wham and pow and kerblam!" The kid exclaimed, throwing exaggerated punches and kicks in to the air. He nearly fell over and Aeterna reached out to steady him.

"You're an interesting one," he murmured, "What's your name?"

"Just call me Stiles, everyone else does,"

"Stiles isn't your name?"

"Nope!" Stiles frowned, his forehead creasing comically, "But my name is terrible, so I like Stiles even better! Besides, my mommy loves it too,"

"Stiles!" Called a demanding voice. Stiles looked up and his eyes sparkled.

"Sorry mister, I have to go. That's my dad," he said in a rush of breath before hurrying around Aeterna.

Aeterna made a small humming sound in his throat as he stood. He turned to watch the kid. Stiles ran up to a man who was indeed wearing a deputy's uniform. Stiles presented the candy bar to him and the older man smiled softly. He took the candy bar and watched with a fond affection as his son made wild motions with his arms. At one point, Stiles gestured toward where Aeterna was standing and Stiles' father looked up. The man nodded slightly at Aeterna and he returned the gesture with a small twitch of his own. The deputy soon was able to calm his son enough to corral his son in to a nearby room.

Aeterna blinks and pushes his hands in to the pockets of his jeans. He makes another sound in his throat and begins to walk once more. When he walked past the room Stiles and his father had disappeared in, he glanced at the bronze nameplate next to the door. It read "Claudia Stilinski." Aeterna's eyes drifted in to the room. He saw the deputy sitting with his back to the door next to the bed in the room. Stiles was actually sitting on the bed between the legs of the woman lying there. He was telling a story from what Aeterna could tell by the faces and wild gestures the boy was making. The woman laughed and it was a warm sound. Stiles' face lit up at the sound and he jumped straight back in to his story in hopes of eliciting the same reaction from her. Aeterna watched for a moment more before slinking back to the hospital room where he had left his current host.

It was another week before Aeterna conjured up his physical body and roamed the hospital halls once more. His current host wasn't going to last much longer—two maybe three months at the most. Aeterna was entertaining the thought of finding a new host when he was nearly run down by a man in a deputy's uniform.

"Pardon me," the man said.

"Like father like son," Aeterna chuckled.

The deputy blinked, "Oh. You're the man Stiles bumped in to the other day. I apologize about that—he's a little hyperactive,"

Aeterna rose his hands in front of him and shook his head, "No harm done,"

"Well," the deputy rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "Let me buy you a cup of Joe anyhow,"

Aeterna shrugged and followed the deputy to the small room filled with constantly buzzing snack machines. The uniformed man put a few dollars in to the machine that made hot drinks. After a Styrofoam cup dropped down and the machine began to gurgle out coffee, the deputy leaned against a wall.

He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head back to rest against the wall. Aeterna looked at the man standing before him. He would be a good host. He was strong and healthy. Yes, he had a bit of weight around his middle, but honestly who didn't? While he was only a deputy now, Aeterna could tell that the man had bigger plans for himself. Aeterna wouldn't be the least surprised if he saw this man running for sheriff in the next few elections. He was an integral part of the community. This would make it easier for Aeterna to cause all sorts of mayhem. How insanely fun would that be? Except there was one glaring problem: he was just too good.

Most people had something Aeterna could exploit. Greed, desire, longing—but not him. He would rather shoot his own foot off before he did anything even remotely immoral. Which was a total damper on Aeterna's search for a host. He inadvertently sighed. Back to square one, he thought.

"So," the deputy began as he handed Aeterna one of the cups from the machine, "I haven't seen you around here before. What brings you to Beacon Hills?"

"Family business," Aeterna answered simply. He took a sip from his so righteously bitter coffee.

"A relative is ill?" The deputy continued.

Aeterna chuckled and feigned nervousness, "It feels like you're interrogating a criminal, officer,"

"Oh," the man seemed flustered by this, "Sorry—force of habit. Let me try again. My name is John Stilinski, Beacon Hills Deputy,"

"Andrew Infernal," Aeterna offered. John held his hand out and they shook firmly.

"Interesting name you've got there Andrew," John commented.

"My family is Old Slavic," Aeterna shrugged, "I could say the same of you. Stilinski sounds fairly Polish, am I correct?"

"It runs on my grandfather's side of the family," John replied with a slight grin, "I'm surprised you recognized that,"

"Well, I've been around. One could say I'm an old soul," he kept himself from sniggering at his own cleverness.

John nodded and drank from his coffee, "So who are you visiting?"

"An old family friend—he was practically a second father to me," Aeterna lied through his teeth.

"And yourself? If you don't mind me asking?"

A faraway look came in to John's eyes and he fingered absently at the rim of his glass.

"My wife," he said after a moment.

The air hung tense between the two men.

"Why is she in here?" Aeterna asked, his voice low and careful.

"The doctors found a tumor on her pancreas. It's cancer,"

"What stage is it? If they've caught it early enough the doctors can—"

"It's already reached Stage IV," John interrupted, soft but commanding.

"Then will she—?"

John shook his head minutely, "She probably won't last the year,"

John looked shocked. His face lost its colour and his eyes were wide. It was as if this was the first time he had said it out loud. Perhaps this was the first time he was really admitting to himself that he would soon be without the person he expected to spend the rest of his life with. She would just simply be no more.

Aeterna watched as large tears dripped from John's eyes. They plip-plopped in to his coffee. The sound startled him and he realized he was crying.

"Sorry," John muttered, "Sorry," he pulled his free hand up and covered his eyes with his palm. His forehead wrinkled and the bottom half of his face contorted in to an expression of tremendous agony. He continued to sob and shake as his emotions wracked his entire body.

Aeterna stepped forward and gingerly took the coffee cup from John's fingers and placed it on a nearby counter. John covered his entire face with both his hands and sobbed in to his palms. Aeterna placed a hand that was meant to be comforting on John's shoulder.

"Let it out," he whispered, "Get it all out now—you have to be strong for Stiles,"

This caused John to break down even further. He sank to his knees and sobbed grossly. Aeterna took a step back to give the man some space. He felt black bleed in to the whites of his eyes. A tight lipped grin pulled across his lips. That was it—he had found his way in.


	2. A New Host

It took another week before Aeterna could produce his physical body once more. His host was becoming too weak. Aeterna would probably only be able to manage his body maybe five more times before he would have to rest for a decade or two.

Aeterna found Stiles sitting by himself in the waiting room. He was in one of the disgustingly green chairs. He was sitting on his palms and swinging his legs absently. Aeterna stood in front of the boy, causing a shadow to be thrown over him. Stiles looked up with a huge smile on his face. It dimmed and became a small frown before he looked down again.

"Hey mister," Stiles greeted half-heartedly.

Aeterna smirked derisively and crouched down in front of Stiles like he had done the first time they had met.

"Don't be too excited to see me pipsqueak,"

"Hey!" Stiles steadied a glare at the elder man, "I'm no pipsqueak!"

"Whatever you say," Aeterna gave him a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Where's your dad?"

Stiles made a face, "Him and mommy are talking with the doctors,"

"Oh," Aeterna thought about that for a moment.

"Mommy is going to be okay," Stiles murmured, "I think,"

The silence sat in the air. Aeterna clapped his hands against his thighs and stood with a groan.

"What do you say that you and I play a game?"

Stiles looked up and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Aeterna.

"What kind of game?" he asked.

Aeterna grinned, "It's a lot of fun. I act something out and you have to guess what I am,"

The boy's eyes lit up a little, "Do I get to pretend to be something and you guess what I am?"

"But of course," Aeterna nodded, "Where would be the fun in it if it was just me making a fool of myself?"

"Okay!" Stiles squealed with joy and began bouncing on his hands, "Let's play, let's play!"

Two hours later, that's how John found his son. The boy was shrieking with glee and his shoulders were shaking with insane laughter. Aeterna was on his back laying on the floor with his legs and arms in the air.

"What are you supposed to be?" the younger male said between laughs.

Aeterna scoffed, "I am most obviously a dead armadillo,"

Stiles just broke down in to an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He doubled over and clutched at his stomach.

John smiled and leaned against one of the archways of the waiting room. Aeterna dropped his limbs and groaned.

"No one appreciates my talents around here," Aeterna mumbled. His dark obsidian eyes flicked up and looked at John.

"What do you think, Sheriff?" Aeterna pleaded, "It was obvious that I was a dead armadillo, right?"

"Deputy," John corrected automatically, "I'm sorry to say, Andrew, but you don't make a very convincing armadillo,"

Aeterna sighed heavily and sat up.

"Well at least I didn't say what I was out loud right after my turn started,"

"It was one time!" Stiles protested.

Aeterna rolled his eyes, "You jumped up on the table, threw your hands in the air, and yelled "I'm Batman" in a scratchy voice,"

"Yeah well," Stiles mumbled, "I was Batman,"

Aeterna shook his head and slapped his palm over his face. He let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Kids these days," he grumbled.

John felt a small smile tug at his lips.

"Okay Stiles," John said, "Leave the nice man alone and let's go get something for lunch. And no—candy does not count as an entire meal."

Stiles pouted for a moment but then smiled when he waved to Aeterna.

"Bye mister!" He called as he trotted along behind his father, "Let's play again sometime!"

Aeterna returned the wave. His eyes were trained on the dark cloud that was beginning to form around the deputy. His lips thinned in to a mischievous smirk. It wouldn't be too long before he had a new, strong host.

Aeterna found himself entertaining Stiles whenever he would roam about. It also allowed him the coffee breaks with John. Aeterna learned that Claudia, John's wife, was refusing further treatment. She said with the cancer having progressed so far already, she just wanted to go peacefully. John may have also mentioned that most of the time, the treatments were more painful than the actual disease. So the woman was constantly having morphine and other pain killers administered by IV drip.

Claudia's cancer was spreading faster than the doctors had anticipated. John had told Aeterna that now the doctors didn't believe that she would live for much longer than three months. John and Claudia were already beginning to make preparations for when she was gone.

"It's all very surreal," John admitted over a cup of coffee, "I never thought that Claudia might—We had always thought that we would grow old together. She had always said that when she died, she would want us to be old and sitting on the porch of our farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. She said we would hold hands in our last moments and know that we lived a good life together."

"That sounds very ideal," Aeterna offered with feigned sympathy.

John let out a short laugh, "Yeah. I just—I don't know. I don't know if I'll be able to raise Stiles all by myself. How am I supposed to go on without her?"

Aeterna put a hand on John's shoulder, "You're strong. You'll figure something out."

"I'll have to," John nodded and opened his mouth to say something else when his pager beeped in his pocket. He looked at it and sighed. He ran his hand down his face.

"Trouble in River City, Sheriff?" Aeterna asked.

"'Fraid so," He slipped his pager back in to his pants, "Would you mind watching Stiles while I'm out?"

Aeterna shrugged, "It would do him so good to be around such a cultured fellow as myself,"

"Thanks," With a slight grin and a small wave, John turned and left.

Aeterna stayed in the little waiting room for about fifteen minutes before a large group of medical staff rushed past the room. Aeterna calmly took a sip of his terrible, machine coffee and then tossed the cup in the trash can. The hallways were a flurry of motion as Aeterna walked down them. The annoying beeps of hospital equipment and the sound of a flat line were prominent in the air around Room 305—Claudia's room.

"Clear!" A nurse said before the sound of a defibrillator being discharged came through. Aeterna reached the area outside the room and saw Stiles sitting in a chair. Tears stained his face and he was shaking with fear. Aeterna walked over to him and knelt down in front of the boy.

"Mister," Stiles said in a small, shaking voice, "Is my mom gonna be okay?"

Aeterna's lips thinned as if in speculation, "It's hard to say, kid."

Stiles' bottom lip trembled before he threw himself at Aeterna. He wrapped his shaking arms around the man and held on for dear life. Aeterna blinked and slowly returned the embrace. He was surprised by the small spark of magic in the boy. It was little—which was only to be expected with someone this young. But the boy definitely had the potential to be very powerful.

About ten minutes later, the nurses and doctors left the room.

"Time of death 10:34 pm," the doctor said to one of the nurses. The nurse nodded solemnly and wrote the time down a clipboard she was carrying. One nurse—Melissa McCall—came over to kneel in front of Stiles as well. The boy turned his tearful gaze on the woman. She seemed to be battling her own emotions as she faced the child.

"Stiles," she tried. Her voice caught on a sob, "Stiles your mom—" She shook her head and pressed her hand to her eyes. Stiles shook his head and looked down. Snot dribbled from his nose and tears streamed freely from his eyes once more. He didn't hold back any longer and let out loud, anguished wails as he cried in the hospital waiting room.

A few minutes later, Stiles had worn himself out. His eyes were red and puffy and his face a complete mess.

"I-I want to see my mom," he whimpered. Melissa looked up at him. She hesitated and looked at Aeterna. The man only shrugged.

"Okay," Melissa said after a moment. She stood and held out her hand for Stiles. The boy slid off the chair and took her hand. He disappeared in to the hospital room a minute later. Melissa left after a few minutes, her eyes freshly wet. She walked to the nurse's station where a few nurses waited to offer their condolences. Aeterna stood and moved unnoticed in to the hospital room.

Stiles was sitting in the chair that was always right next to his mother's bed. He stared at his mother's seemingly sleeping face. She didn't look to be in any pain and looked peaceful in death.

"I couldn't do anything," Stiles mumbled, "Mom died and I couldn't help her at all."

Aeterna stood across from Stiles on the opposite side of the hospital bed.

"I can bring her back," he said simply. Stiles' head jerked up and he looked wide-eyed at Aeterna.

"Wh-what?" He asked, his voice small and befitting of a child.

"I can get your mother's soul back and bring her back to life again," Aeterna explained.

Stiles' mouth opened in disbelief. He stared at Aeterna for a minute and then back down at his mother's form. He looked like he wanted to speak. But the words wouldn't come to him. After a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head rapidly.

"She wouldn't want that," he said, his voice shaking. Aeterna frowned and moved to the other side of the bed. His shadow covered Stiles in the fluorescent lights.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" He asked. Stiles only nodded his head weakly. Aeterna smiled wickedly, "I can take away your pain. I can give you power—I can protect you Stiles. Would you like that?"

Once more, Stiles was still. He sniffled as he thought about this. He scrubbed at his eyes as tears threatened to overflow again. He nodded a couple times.

Aeterna smiled and placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder, "You've made a wise decision, Stiles."

"Stiles!" John Stilinski yelled as he ran in to the hospital room. In the dim light, he looked at the form of his now deceased wife. Stiles sat in the chair next to her and simply stared at her. The boy then looked up at John. For a moment, his dark brown eyes looked black.

"Stiles," John whispered. He rushed over to his son and pulled him in to a crushing hug, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here, son. I'm sorry," he murmured against Stiles' shorn hair. John pulled back and looked at Stiles.

"It's okay dad," Stiles said simply, "I'm okay now."


	3. Reflection of a Beast

Judas – Chapter Three

Stiles was thirteen when he started to notice he was a little different than the kids around him. It all started one day in 8th grade science. The teacher, Mrs. Lopez, had called on Scott. Scott and Stiles had been best friends since the first day of preschool. Scott hadn't been paying attention. Even if he had been, he probably still wouldn't have known the answer to the question. So he didn't get the question right. A few of their classmates giggled but Mrs. Lopez took it to an entirely different level. She ridiculed Scott in front of the entire class and had everyone in stitches laughing at him.

Stiles felt his anger rise up inside of him. It was overwhelming and blinding. Stiles had never been so angry in his entire life. No one made fun of his best friend. That old hag was evil and she needed to be punished. A bit of pain would teach her. His eyes fell on a beaker sitting on her desk. She needed to be punished, he thought again.

He heard an echoing chuckle.

_emThat's more like it_./em

The beaker exploded. Mrs. Lopez screamed and shielded her face. Glass scattered across the table. Not enough, not enough. The other instruments exploded on her table and the classroom erupted in to shrieks. Children were ducking under their lab stations and covering their heads. Stiles could hear their screams, but it all seemed so far away. Not enough, she needed to learn a lesson. The chaos continued as the windows exploded inside. One after the other, the overhead lights also exploded causing showers of sparks to rain down in the classroom.

The screaming escalated and Stiles felt his heart race. He felt exhilarated and alive. Yes, that woman was being punished. Serves her right for messing with his best friend.

"What is going on in here?" Shouted another faculty member who had come at all the noise, "Oh my god, Mrs. Lopez! Mrs. Lopez!"

The children were still whimpering and crying in fear. Stiles felt his lips curl up in to a grin. Good, this was good. He could practically taste their distress on his tongue and it was delicious.

"Stiles!" Scott was shaking him. At some point, Scott had dragged Stiles down under the lab station with him. Stiles blinked and turned towards Scott. Scott's face paled.

"Dude, your eyes,"

Stiles frowned and blinked again. He rubbed his eyes, "What?"

"N-Nevermind. For a second there, I thought they were black—must've been a trick of the light. What the heck just happened man? That was like straight out of a horror movie!"

Stiles just shrugged and shook his head.

He heard another laugh and looked around. In the corner of the room covered in shadows he thought he saw a man. Stiles blinked and the man was gone. The laughter continued in his head.

em_Soon. Don't worry._/em

When Stiles was a freshman in high school, he saw his eyes turn black for the first time. He had just gotten back from lacrosse practice. Jackson Whittemore had really laid it on him during practice and afterwards in the locker room. The love of his life, Lydia Martin, had ignored him once again. His science teacher Mr. Harris was on his ass and gave him detention if Stiles so much as blinked at the wrong time. It wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything. His anger welled up inside of him. He tried to calm himself by splashing some cool water on his face from his sink. But even that didn't quell the rising heat of his rage.

He lowered his head and focused on breathing through his nose. Ever since his mom had died, he'd had these sorts of attacks. They were a little like panic attacks, but instead of anxiety all Stiles felt was sweltering fury. His mind would go blank and everything would become blurred. It was like he was an entirely different person. If only Stiles was stronger, faster, then he could teach Jackson a lesson—put him in his place. If Stiles was just a little bit more handsome a bit more desirable, he would have Lydia at his feet. But he was none of those things and it made him furious. He was just some hyperactive little punk who wasn't good at anything. His only use was to be the butt of a joke.

His teeth ground together as he growled. His fingers flexed against the edge of the sink until it was painful. It wasn't right. He'd already been through so much in his life. Why couldn't he ever catch a break? Why why why why! His grip tightened and the sink cracked under his fingers. Pain flared in his palms as the shards of ceramic cut his skin. Startled, he stepped away from the sink. What had just happened? He looked up at himself in the mirror. His body started to shake. His eyes had gone completely black. A murky, inky, jet black had covered his eyes all the way out to the edges.

His reflection grinned back at him.

em_There you are. I've been waiting._/em

The reflection flickered like a CD with a scratch on it. The visage it flickered to momentarily was of Stiles' reflection, eyes black, laughing maniacally. Or perhaps it had been screaming. Stiles swallowed thickly and moved back towards the mirror. He looked closely at it. His reflection raised an eyebrow at him.

em_Don't act surprised. You knew I was here all along. You just chose to forget me. Not very nice of you._/em

Stiles was about three inches from the mirror when the reflection flickered again. This time his reflection's head was crooked and smiling before flickering back to normal. Stiles reached up, his hand shaking slightly, to touch his face just below his eyes.

"Is this," he swallowed thickly, "Is this me?"

em_This is you. This has always been you._ _Are you ready to be strong Stiles? I can make you strong._/em

The image flickered again. He was kissing Lydia. He was the lacrosse captain. He was showing Jackson his place. He was the Stiles he wanted to be. The image changed and Stiles' reflection was spattered with blood. Then it was Stiles again, his eyes still the pitch black. Normally Stiles would have been horrified. But perhaps, deep down, he had known all along that this was what he was. It was his time to dance in the spot light. When Stiles opened his eyes again, they were the normal honey brown colour. But there was a dark ring around the outer edges of his irises. His lips stretched in to a wide, bone-chilling grin.

em_"That's more like it,"_/em


	4. Into the Fire

Chapter Four

During off season, Coach Finstock liked to make the lacrosse team run with the cross country team. It wasn't such a terrible idea. However basically everyone on the lacrosse team already had a personal exercise regimen. So the only person getting unfit in the off season was the coach himself. It was still good for the lacrosse team to be active together. Finstock said it helped to culture a sense of team unity. Something about those who run together, win together.

But Stiles didn't really mind it. Running gave him time to just be to himself. Running was easy to him. He always had an excess of energy to burn so it was a good activity for him. Stiles was definitely not the fastest, but he had the most stamina. Many of the times he could outlast the cross country team while he couldn't outrun them. Not that he really minded, he wasn't in it for the medals or the recognition. The activity of running gave him time to be left alone to his own thoughts. Well, most of his own thoughts.

After he had seen his eyes go black for the first time, Stiles had decided to embrace the demon inside of him. Although he wasn't entirely sure that Aeterna was a demon at all. He was something else—something more concentrated. But he had never hurt Stiles, so he was all right in Stiles' books. According to Aeterna, Stiles had made a deal with him when he was a boy. Not that Stiles remembered this or anything it entailed. Apparently, Aeterna needed a host to survive in because he didn't have his own physical body.

"Can you make a body? It seems a little lame for you to just piggy back on people,"

_How rude. Of course I can._

"Well," Stiles checked his watch for his running time, "Why don't you?"

Aeterna sighed in Stiles' head.

_Think of it this way: you need calories from food to keep your body running and functioning, correct?_

Stiles shrugged.

_I don't have the same energy source as you do. Therefore I cannot maintain a physical body for long periods of time._

"So, how would you be able to make one?"

_I would borrow your energy._

"Borrow my energy? Why does that sound less than ideal?" Stiles asked, pausing to check his pulse.

_You have more energy than most. It goes along with your magic._

Stiles rolled his neck and shoulders. He stretched his arms and held himself up on a nearby tree to stretch his calves and thighs.

"Look, I don't know how I feel about this magic stuff,"

Aeterna laughed.

_You're fine with me sharing your body, but you draw the line at magic? What if I told you there was so much more in this world you didn't know about?_

Stiles frowned, "What kind of things?"

_Things that you couldn't even imagine._

There was a small sound. Stiles blinked and looked around the tree. There was a baby bird on the ground, chirping. He looked up and saw a nest in the tree. The chick must have fallen from there. Stiles knelt down next to the chick. If he touched it, the mother wouldn't care for it. The chick continued to chirp.

_It's broken its wing. This is you Stiles. You're weak and helpless. But I can help you. I can make you soar._

Stiles felt his eyes bleed black. It was an interesting sensation. It was like his body was covered in felt. He was warmed and safe in this embrace. He blinked and the darkness was gone from his eyes, but not his soul. He checked his watch and started his timer again. With a step and a gentle crunch, he continued on his run.

When Stiles had agreed to start learning magic, he had no idea what that would mean. Aeterna had him reading books mostly. They were all on the theory of magic and the basic foundations.

_Too many good mages have destroyed themselves because they skipped the basics. Pathetic really._

It was actually quite interesting. Stiles probably would never have found let alone read those books. One Saturday morning Stiles awoke feeling tired and sore to find a stack of old, leather-bound books on his desk.

"Where did these," his voice trailed off as his head pounded. He walked in to his bathroom and ran a hot shower. As he was scrubbing his body, he noticed bruises forming on his skin. He frowned.

"What in the world," he mumbled. Where had those come from? He hadn't bumped in to anything in weeks. Even if he had, there were more than normal even for his clumsy self. His head pounded again and he winced. He leaned against the sink, water still dripping from his hair. When he looked at himself in the mirror he groaned.

"Aeterna," he breathed. His eyes were brown, but the black ring around them was thicker than normal. The whites of his eyes were grey as if the black had washed in to the whites. That usually happened after Aeterna did one of his things.

_I went and retrieved your materials. I hardly think it is any reason to be so unhappy._

"What did you do? Fight an entire army along the way?"

_Let's just say a few people were none too happy to see me again._

"So even you have enemies huh?"

_Useless details. But since I do it is an even better idea to be prepared for them at any moment._

"Your enemies and all the supernatural right?" Stiles asked sarcastically.

_As I have told you, this place is a hot spot for supernatural activity. Why do you think I was drawn here? Certainly not for the city life. _

"Okay okay. God stop yelling. My head hurts enough as it is," Stiles winced and held his head, "Can you let me know when you're going to use my body and go for a joy-ride?"

_If you so desire. Do you also wish to know what I do while in control of your body?_

Stiles thought about this for a second, "Honestly? Probably not. But if I ever ask you have to tell me. Deal?"

_This seems to be a fair enough trade. Deal._

Stiles returned to his room and got dressed. He put on a faded Captain America shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His dad was out on patrol today and Scott was working at the veterinary clinic. So that left Stiles all to himself and the new books on his desk.

"So where do I start?"

_At the top_.

"Easy enough," Stiles whispered. He grabbed the first book and opened it. The book was in a completely different language.

Stiles blinked at it, "Uh, how do you expect me to read this?"

Aeterna let out a sigh of annoyance.

_Must I really do everything? Very well, give me a moment._

There was a sharp, piercing pain in Stiles' head like a needle was poking in to his skull. The shock spread across his brain and he let out a noise of discomfort. Clutching at his head didn't do much good either. It hurt so much. The pain focused between Stiles' eyes and he went cross-eyed before squeezing his eyes shut.

"Aeterna!" He yelled. Instantly the pain disappeared and Stiles gasped. He recovered his breath, "What was tha—" his voice got caught in his throat when his eyes fell on the page. Suddenly he could read the script on the book easily.

_That was just the beginning. This is not going to be easy in the least, Stiles. There will be a lot of pain along the way._

Stiles swore he heard Aeterna purr slightly at this.

_But it will be well worth the agony. That I can promise you._

The boy sighed and shook his head. He opened one of the drawers on his desk and pulled out a white bottle. He twisted the cap off and shook out two aspirins. After thinking about it, he shook out a third and then swallowed them dry.

"Then let's get to work," Stiles murmured as he pulled a fresh notebook from his shelf situated behind his desk.

Fire and wind magic were the easiest for Stiles to grasp right away. He also didn't have much trouble with the darker arts such as alchemy and potion making. He was really glad he had his Jeep and a weekly allowance or else getting some of the things for his potions would be really difficult. His dad might start to get curious as to why boxes from "Witchraft N' More" kept showing up on the doorstep. So better to bypass it all together. Stiles ended up fixing up his mom's old flower garden so he could grow herbs and other plants that were a little more difficult to acquire. He got the seeds from another of Aeterna's mysterious sources.

Stiles also fell in love with working with runes. He loved the archaic power they held. He was even throwing around the idea of getting a few tattoos that would help power up his spells. It wouldn't be that bad. He could make a potion to numb the pain afterwards. But he would have to find a shaman who could do the procedure correctly. It wasn't that he needed magical ink or anything like that. The runes would be calling forth the true strength of Stiles' inert magic and amplifying it sort of like a stereo that you plugged in to your phone. Not to mention Aeterna's own power already swirling around inside of Stiles. While Stiles was plenty powerful on his own, if Aeterna wanted to put even the tiniest bit of his own strength in, the spell was strengthened by no less than eight times. The dude was kind of terrifying.

One day Stiles was looking at himself in the mirror. Since starting training with magic, he had also had to discipline his body. His muscles were becoming more refined and toned. He nodded appreciatively.

"Hey Aeterna," Stiles began, "How do you think I would look with tattoos?"

_Hm? You plan to get tattoos? Do you really thirst for power that badly?_

Stiles shrugged, "It wouldn't be so bad. Besides, you're always telling me to be as strong as I can. Also, tattoos are badass. I could be covered in them and girls would be all over me."

_I suppose. I know a family of Druid emissaries who live nearby. I'm sure one could do the proper procedure. Would you like to design it or shall I?_

His eyes traced the lines of his muscles and looked over his skin. The power brimming just below the surface was something no one knew about—not even Scott.

"I can do it. I know what my strengths and weaknesses are. You do too, but I know how I want to shape those."

Aeterna laughed.

_You haven't taken this much control of your training for quite some time. Why the sudden initiative?_

Stiles was quiet for a moment. Then he was pulling a sleeping shirt from the pile near the sink over his shoulders.

"No reason."

_It's the nightmares, isn't it? That's adorable. You are actually taking heed to your instincts._

"What the hell Aeterna? Are you making fun of me now? You know just as well I as do that mages can have great skill in premonitions and seeing the future."

_Well yes, I know that. But I'm not sure if you fully grasp this concept just yet._

Stiles huffed in annoyance, "Okay sure. I don't know how to interpret them yet. But I can tell that something big is coming to Beacon—something bad."

_That's a start. Whatever it is, you'll be ready. Especially if you go through with your tattoo idea._

His bed sank under his weight. He inhaled deeply and let out a sharp breath. He opened one of his herbalism books and began to do some light reading. Herbology was one of his weaker focuses, but he was working on it. School started back up again in three weeks and that would definitely put a damper on his magical studies. He would have to balance his magic with his schoolwork, much to Aeterna's displeasure. But Stiles had made a valid point—if he started to decline in his performance in his studies or lacrosse even, Scott would notice and probably tell his father. Who was to say that the sheriff didn't sniff out the truth? Not that he had in the last eight years but now Stiles was waist deep in the occult. There was a lot more for the sheriff to use to put two and two together.

It was around midnight when Stiles put his book down and turned off his bedside lamp. He had his dream journal on the nightstand for when he woke up. Ever since he had started to dabble in dreams, he began to write down his own to interpret them later. He took a deep breath and started his breathing exercises. He needed to empty his mind and bring forth his subconscious. The more he was open to the future, the better the results of his dream casting would be. So he calmed himself to a trance-like state and slipped off to sleep.

_The forest was dark and not even the moonlight shone through the canopies of the trees. Stiles looked around and all he could see were trees. They were in various stages of decay and few still retained their leaves._

_How strange, Stiles thought as he moved forward. The ground under his feet crunched with each step he took. His eyes burned from something in the air—smoke perhaps? It made seeing a bit difficult added on top of the glaring darkness. His left foot caught on something when he tried to pull it up to take a step. He stumbled but caught himself easily enough on a nearby tree. When he righted himself and pulled his hand away from the trunk. His palm was sticky with something. Stiles swallowed as he examined his skin. He had thought perhaps it would be sap but it was blood. The coppery smell entered his nose and made him shiver._

_Stiles had heard a lot of tales from Aeterna, so normally horror didn't really scare him. But this dream—all of this was really freaking him out. He was just grateful he had learned how to wrangle his consciousness in the dream. Lucidity was key in getting to the bottom of a dream's message. So he swallowed and continued on his way. Something had settled in his bones and was pulling him. The miasma became even thicker and it became difficult to breathe. Stiles coughed a few times before mumbling a small charm for clarity. It seemed to do the trick for the area around him and allowed him to breathe once more. But he wasn't prepared for what he saw when he looked up._

_Before him a three-story home was ablaze. The flames engulfed the structure in an impregnable cage. Smoke billowed out from the top of the fire and coated the sky in dark purple smog. Even then, no heat came from the inferno. Stiles stepped in to the clearing the house sat on. As soon as he did, it was like a switch had been flicked. Ghastly faces appeared in the flames. They screamed and pleaded. Stiles flinched and covered his ears. The sound was so piercing it was making his head spin. He looked up and counted the spirits—the number could be significant later. There were eight faces in the flames. He couldn't tell their gender or age, but he knew that they were suffering. They couldn't break free from this world and weren't able to move on. What was holding them there, Stiles wondered._

_Even still, the feeling in his gut did not relent. He had not yet found the true meaning of his dream. So with a thick swallow, Stiles continued to step on the burning porch. He touched the doorknob and it was cool to the touch. The flames moved through him like whispers of air. It was strange because the flickering fire actually gave him the chills where they touched him. The house and everything inside of it was intact and the fire was as much a ghost as the spirits screaming at him were._

_He wondered around the house, following the pull in his stomach to the stairs. He walked up them one at a time. They held his weight. The sounds of the fire raging around him hissed and popped at him. The spirits had quieted but their faces were stuck open in pained screams. When he reached the second floor, he turned right. There was a room at the end of the hallway and the door was slightly ajar. As Stiles moved closer to the door he began to hear voices from inside. They weren't saying anything coherent and there were only two. In fact—wait, had that been a moan? The door was warm when Stiles placed his palm on the grain and pushed it open._

_The room was fairly bare. A window on the exterior wall, a single three-drawer dresser, a closet, and a bed were contained in the four walls. There were two people on the bed. From the sounds and motions, they were having sex. Stiles kept his groan to himself because of course he would be a peeping tom in his own dream. His eyes raked appreciatively over the man who held himself above the person below him. The man had sculpted muscles that tensed and flexed as he moved. He had a triskele tattoo square on his back between his shoulder blades. The black ink glistened with the sweat that covered the man's skin._

_Stiles moved his eyes to finally look at the person under the man. He froze when he saw who it was. The person below the man was himself. Stiles stared at himself as his face contorted in pleasure. Moans and keens of bliss left his mouth to join the sounds of the fire crackling around them. He put his hands up on the man's chest, begging and pleading for him not to stop. To go harder, faster, yes, yes! The man obliged and Dream Stiles threw his head back with a shout._

_Then his eyes snapped open and they were the solid black. His lips pulled back in to a wicked grin to reveal perfectly white teeth. There was only a small flex in his forearm before his fingers sank in to the flesh of the man's chest. He reached deep in to his chest with such force that the man's ribs cracked with ease. When Dream Stiles pulled his hands back out, dark scarlet blood ran down his arms in rivulets to drip on his face. Between his fingers was the still beating heart of the man. Blood dripped from the organ on to Dream Stiles' face. He laughed with glee and licked at the droplets closest to his mouth. The red stained his teeth as he continued to smile._

_Blood coated Dream Stiles' chest as it pooled from the man's chest cavity. Yet he continued to thrust in to Dream Stiles. Stiles felt bile rising in his throat. The spirits resumed their shrieking and the sound of the fire whooshed back in to the plane. Dream Stiles turned his blood splattered face towards where Stiles was standing in the doorway. His black eyes sent a chill through Stiles' body and caused him freeze on the spot._

_"This is you," Dream Stiles said, "This has always been you," he laughed and laughed as the heart in his grasp slowly stopped beating and flames engulfed the room._

Stiles awoke with a gasp. He was covered in sweat. His limbs shook as he scrambled from his bed and hurried in to his bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he was violently sick. He was shaking so badly he fell to his knees. The image of the man's gaping chest cavity was burned in the back of Stiles' eyelids. A few minutes of collecting himself, he was able to stand to make his way to the sink. He rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face. But he was still feeling shivery while waves of heat caused him to sweat.

When he walked back in to his room, he glanced at the digital clock next to his bed. The display showed him it was 3:26 in the morning. In the darkness, he felt around the top of his lamp for the knob to turn the light on. It flicked on and Stiles winced, closing his eyes for a second. After adjusting to the light he opened his eyes and grabbed his journal. The dream still left him feeling weak and fairly disturbed. But he needed to write it down to analyze it later. So he grabbed the black pen and opened his journal to the next fresh page. He inhaled slowly and exhaled through his nose. He let his hand sketch out the triskele that had been on the man's back in the top right-hand corner of the page.

As he pressed his pen to the first line on the page, a howl sounded outside somewhere. Stiles frowned and looked towards his window. Wolves hadn't been in this part of California for years. His mind drifted to the fire in his dream. Fire in dreams could sometimes represent calamitous change. What could that even mean? Stiles shook his head and quickly began to recount his dream before he forgot anything.


End file.
